(Elira's POV)
I just stood there… staring at both of them. They were still bowing. Still. Like I was someone important. Like I was someone who mattered. My brain, however, was doing the exact opposite of functioning.
What? Crimson? Last heir? What the… fuck? I blinked once. Then twice. My eye twitched slightly, and one side of my lip curled up in the most awkward, confused expression possible. I looked at them like they had just grown horns out of their heads. (Which—okay, technically one of them did have something worse than horns. A whole damn dragon.)
"Right," I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. "This is normal. Completely normal. Nothing strange about this at all. Just a girl, a dragon, and a random midnight identity crisis."
They finally lifted their heads when they realized I wasn't saying anything. Probably waiting for some grand reaction. Yeah… about that. My brain suddenly caught onto something. Crimson. Heir. Sixteen. Time stopped. Crimson sky falling like the world was ending. My eyes widened slowly.
"Oh no," I whispered. "No, no, no… don't tell me—" I looked straight at the woman—Maria—and pointed at myself like I needed physical confirmation this nightmare was real.
"Don't tell me," I said, my voice rising with disbelief, "you showed up on my sixteenth birthday just to inform me that I'm some kind of fucking lost princess, and all of this—" I threw my arms wide, gesturing toward the frozen world, the burning sky, the absolute chaos of existence "—this time-stopping, crimson-apocalypse aesthetic situation is somehow because of me?"
I forced a smile. A very hopeful smile. The kind of smile that was practically begging for denial.
"Please," I added, almost laughing, eyes wide with expectation. "Please tell me you're about to say, 'Of course not, you delusional idiot.' Please. I'm begging you. Restore my faith in reality."
Silence. Thick. Heavy. Uncomfortable silence. Maria glanced at the dragon. The dragon glanced at her. And then—
"Okay," the dragon said in a deep, calm voice, "she's a smart one."
Something inside me… just snapped. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, clean break. I inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower.
"…You've got to be kidding me," I whispered, staring at them like my soul had just been evicted from my body. Great. Just great.
"I ran away from one nightmare," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair, "and accidentally entered a whole damn fantasy series. Fantastic. Amazing. Ten out of ten life choices, Elira. Truly inspiring."
I let out a short, hollow laugh. Because what else was I supposed to do? Cry? Scream? Pass out? Honestly, all three were valid options at this point. But no. No, my brain had apparently chosen sarcasm as a coping mechanism. Because of course it did.
"I mean, sure," I continued, pacing a little now, hands moving as I spoke, "why not? Let's just add 'secret royal bloodline' to my already chaotic life. Abusive childhood? Check. Running away at sixteen? Check. Dragon kidnapping? Check. Hidden princess identity? Why not—let's make it a full package deal."
I stopped. Turned. Looked straight at them.
"But just so we're clear," I said slowly, my voice dropping slightly, "I am not one of those clueless novel girls who takes ten chapters to understand what's going on. I get it. I'm not stupid."
My chest rose and fell with a steady breath.
"You said Crimson. You said heir. Time stopped—and I'm the only one moving. The sky is literally burning like it's celebrating my existence. And you show up out of nowhere like some dramatic plot twist."
I let out a sharp breath.
"So yeah," I said quietly, "I'm putting the pieces together."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Maria's voice came—softer this time.
"Okay," she said, a small smile forming, "I agree with Cain. You are a smart one."
There was something else in her voice. Something gentle. Something… almost warm.
"Just like your mother."
My world stopped again. But this time—Not because of magic. Because of a word. Mother.
My eyes snapped open. Sharp. Burning. Something twisted painfully in my chest, so sudden and intense it almost made me gasp. But I didn't. I couldn't. Because I refused to let it show. I forced my expression to stay blank. Calm. Indifferent. Like that word didn't mean anything. Like it didn't tear something open inside me.
No. I swallowed hard. No. We're not going there. Not now. Not ever. For sixteen years… I had buried that word. Mother. Father. I had taken those words, wrapped them in silence, and shoved them so deep inside my chest that even I stopped reaching for them.
Because wanting something you'll never have? That kind of hope kills you slowly. And I learned that lesson early. Too early. There were nights—countless nights—when I lay on that cold, hard bed in that tiny storage room, staring at the ceiling, wondering… Where are they? Why did they leave me? Was I not worth staying for?
I would imagine them sometimes. A mother who would brush my hair gently. A father who would protect me. A family. Warm. Safe. Mine.
But reality? Reality was different. Reality was cold floors, empty plates, and hands that only reached out to hurt—not to hold. And slowly… painfully… I stopped imagining. Because every time I did, it hurt more. And I couldn't afford that kind of weakness. Not in that house. Not in that life. I learned to survive without them. To breathe without them. To exist without them.
So when Maria said that word—Mother—It felt like someone had dug into a place I had sealed shut years ago. I clenched my fists slightly. No. I'm not that child anymore. I don't need them. I don't want them. I don't—
Because, I know, how difficult it is to survive without those two people whom they called "Parents." From childhood to toddler to teenage-hood, whenever I was in difficulty. I wish for them. I don't even get human sense, when those very people called 'parents' abandoned me in this cruel world. I know how it feels when you see a child holding hand in hand with their parents' hands, going happily, when you yourself are just a child. I was three or two when I first got curious about the word 'Parent'. Later, I got to know from Nila when...
(Author POV)
Flashback
Elira was four at that time. She was sitting in the corner of her room, her small body curled into itself, head down, crying quietly. Her tiny shoulders trembled with each suppressed sob, like even at that age she had already learned that crying too loudly only brought more pain. She was crying because Mr. Ron had beaten her. All because she broke his favourite cup. It wasn't intentional. Her small hands were too little… too weak to hold something so delicate. It had slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. And with it—her peace shattered too.
She still remembered it. The sharp sound of the cup breaking. The sudden silence. And then—his footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Angry. Before she could even explain—A slap. Her small body had jerked to the side, her cheek instantly burning as tears filled her eyes in shock. She didn't even understand what was happening. One moment she was scared… the next—Pain.
"Useless girl!" his voice had roared, loud enough to make her flinch again. "You can't even hold a cup properly?! What good are you?!" Another slap. And another. Her tiny hands had come up, trying to protect her face, but they were too small… too weak. Nothing stopped him. Nothing ever did.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" she had cried between sobs, her voice breaking, her words stumbling over each other. "I didn't mean to… it slipped… I'm sorry…" But apologies meant nothing in that house. They never did.
Now, sitting in the corner, her face was swollen from the slaps. Her soft cheeks were puffed and red, marked by his fingers, burning with pain that refused to fade. Her lips trembled as she cried, trying her best to stay quiet. Because she was scared. Scared that if she cried louder—He might come back.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered again, even though no one was there to hear it. The door slowly creaked open. Elira's whole body stiffened instantly, fear shooting through her as she quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand. But it wasn't him. It was Nila.
Little Nila walked into the room, holding a box carefully in both her small hands. It looked big compared to her, but she still carried it with effort. It was a first-aid kit. She closed the door softly behind her and walked toward Elira. Then she sat beside her.
At that time—Nila was everything to Elira. Her best friend. Her sister. The only person who made her feel like she wasn't alone in that house. She was kind from the start. Not a bully. Not cruel. Just a child with a soft heart.
"I brought this," Nila said softly, lifting the box a little. Elira didn't respond. She just kept her head down, tears falling silently. Nila opened the kit with her small hands and took out an ice pack. Her eyes moved to Elira's swollen face, and her expression changed—soft, worried, careful.
"…It will hurt," she said quietly. Then she gently pressed the ice against Elira's cheek. "sss…" Elira hissed immediately as the cold touched her skin, her body flinching from the sudden sensation. Tears welled up again in her eyes.
"I'm sorry!" Nila said quickly, her voice panicking a little. "But it will help… it will make it better…" She adjusted her hand, this time more gently. More carefully. So different from the hands that had hurt her before.
Slowly, Elira lowered her hands from her face and looked at Nila with teary, confused eyes. At that time, Nila was truly kind. She treated Elira like she mattered. Like she was not just a servant… not just a maid. She was like a best friend. Like a sister.
But over time… things started to change. As Nila grew, she began to notice how her parents treated Elira. How they spoke to her. How they ordered her around. How they never showed her kindness. Again and again, they told Nila—"Don't befriend her." "She's not like you." "She's just a servant. A maid."
Nila was little. And in her eyes, her parents were her idols. Whatever they said—was right. So she followed them. At first, it was small. She stopped playing with Elira. Then she stopped talking to her. Then she started snatching her things. Blaming her for things she never did. And slowly… her behavior changed completely.
The same girl who once sat beside her… who once called her sister… started treating her like she was nothing. Her bullying got worse and worse with time. More cruel. More painful.
But right now—In this moment—she was still sitting beside Elira. Still holding the ice pack gently against her swollen face. Still kind. Still her only comfort.
"sss…" Elira hissed again when the ice made contact with her skin.
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From last to days I didn't able to write. SO upload two chapters today. 😉
But I am angry with you all. You don't comment and support me. 😢
I am trying to make my story better and beforehand English is not my first language. 😁😀
So there could be some grammar or other mistake. Please don't mind and let me know the mistake. 😊
Thanks,
Your Author,
—PhQ